


To Get Out Alive

by Churbooseanon



Series: Guns For Hire [7]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Guns For Hire AU, Mercenaries, Minor Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4949968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churbooseanon/pseuds/Churbooseanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some stories start on Adaptive. Some come to be there. When it comes to the mercenary backup specialist, Recovery, the story starts off-world and explodes into mercenary intrigue in a single night gone wrong. Now he’s on everyone’s speed dial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The pulse of Gulch, perhaps of Adaptive itself, was a deep, throbbing, sometimes surging baseline of Errera. Everyone seemed to move with the sound of it in their very footsteps, striding along to a beat that was part of their very bones. Their breath rose and fell like the cadence of music that danced in the air. People flowed from one motion to another like the colored lights that lined everything and slid through the plas-glass walls and floors, one color melting into the next into the next into the next in a hypnotizing cycle that lured one into a sense of calm that called to him, held him up and made him feel weightless. Yet there was a strange trepidation that seemed to come over the crowds if they watched too long. Maybe it was the way they mimicked the colors of the clouds outside that held everyone on edge. Death from above, forcing everyone to go about in the sealed and safe bubbles of their helmets for the whole of their lives. Except here. Except now. Except in Errera, where dreams could come true. Errera was the pulse of Adaptive, of Gulch, and now of David Butler. 

Granted it hadn’t been David’s intention to let the music and the lights and the palpable ecstasy of life and breath and uninterrupted sight get to him. He could never get over the fact that people here were so capable of living their lives without that ability to look, to express. His first months on the planet had been spent studying a whole new sort of body language that had to rely on a lack of facial expressions more often than not. And yet there were places like this, places like Errera where things were completely different, where people were different and so alive, splashed with colors in a horrible clash that each person made their own and centered around that one feature in their lives. Somehow they managed to reconcile their two lives, their two worlds: one where question was reinforced by the proper tilt of a helmet and another where they were full of quirked eyebrows, pursed lips, and eyelashes artfully looked through as they tried to con something out of you. 

Working a bar at a place like this meant that David got all types. There were the people so drunk off their asses or stoned out of their minds that they thought wearing a helmet was going to get him to serve them. There were underaged girls with so much makeup caked on in an attempt to look like they were older than they were that he had to think they looked more akin to clowns back home. Once he’d even run into someone with so many scars on his face that David had been certain the man was one of the ‘mercenaries’ who were whispered about behind their backs and so easily accepted as part of their world, their very lives despite the fact that no truly civilized world would ever put up with the lawlessness of Adaptive. But David, well, he wasn’t on one of those better, more civilized planets. Wanted or not, this was where he’d ended up, and this was the place David felt strangely at home. 

God help him, the pulse of Errera, of Gulch, of Adaptive, beat in time with his own heart, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. Of course that was what the proprietor wanted. Errera was supposed to strike a chord with the soul, wrap you up tightly and never let go, weave its spell in your tissue until there was nothing left but the allure, the need, the way the music moved you. And David loved every second of it, no matter where he was. No matter which bar he manned, which level of the club he was on, which specific swirls of music swept him up, David was content to do his job with a smile and a kind word to pretty much anyone who showed up. But nothing, never ever anything, could compare to the music he was graced with when he worked the Storm-Dome bar. Some nights it went purely in the vein of hypnotic music that flowed through the body like a wave, forcing you to move, catching everyone up in the wonder of the deadly show above and around them through the expensive plas-steel dome. The multi-colored clouds above, light by the flash of lightning made everyone ooh and aah, and it took a three person light team constant work to keep the visuals of the areas in tune with the storm outside, the glass below dancing feet echoing the sky above. From the bar it was a true vision. 

“David, you’re staring again,” a voice laughed at his elbow, but he heard it from the speakers in his helmet. As much as he’d prefer it differently, the bartenders and other employees of Errera were expected to wear helmets at all times, especially security and the waitstaff. After all, what was the point of someone ordering something from a holodisplay at a table, or even trying to shout it over the din of the crowds and music if the bartenders weren’t going to notice the need. 

With a sigh David tore his gaze from the bodies moving between the echoing storms of sky and probably insanely expensive sub-floor lighting system, and turned his attention to one of the other three bartenders working the previously busy area. And to think he’d have the peace to watch people now. Tended to be that this particular area had a rush of bodies and drink orders when the dome first opened, but after that it trickled down to levels far below that of the other bar areas in the massive club. Normally, when it slowed down, David could let his mind wonder, his helmet speakers tapped into the area’s music feed and turned up just enough to really get moving in his blood. At that point he took over the drinks that came in from the table holodisplays and the others picked up the actual in person customers. But apparently tonight wasn’t going to be like that. 

Tonight wasn’t going to be like a lot of things, but David didn’t know that, and so turned his music down and smiled at the petite woman named Tracy. Then he tried not to groan out loud because he knew she couldn’t see the smile. Instead he tilted his head curiously to the side and tried to ignore the fact that she was moving in close, probably to try and give him a look down her shirt. Really, her attempts at seducing him weren’t really going to go anywhere, not because he wasn’t interested. Her personality was so bright, her heart so warm, and her jokes actually really damn good (puns included), but David? Well, he just wasn’t ready for something after his last breakup. Karim had pretty much thrown David out on his ass only two weeks ago, so there was no way he was ready for something else, especially since he’d thought the man had been the be all end all in his life.

And what the hell had he meant by David needed to ‘find himself in himself’ before he could ‘find peace in another’? 

“What’s up, Trace?” he asked, making sure he switched his own feed over to her private channel. “Please don’t tell me you’re banishing me down to the lower bars. I swear I’ll pay more attention tonight.”

“Yeah, and everyone knows you’d find a way to beg your way back up here to my side,” she giggled, shaking her head. David tried not to look too closely. Errera provided helmets and uniforms for all employees to use on the grounds, and the glowing blue strips on the woman’s helmet just made him dizzy when she did that. “Naw, it’s something else entirely. Got news for you. Since we’re slow up here and the boss wants actual work out of you, she’s sending you upstairs to manage a private party. Cute little Davie has his first VIP gig!”

David groaned and tried not to argue it. Orders were orders, and he was actually approaching his year mark, which was about the threshold for people doing this sort of stuff if they weren’t a manager, so it made sense. The other bartenders whispered that it was the year mark that mattered because usually a tender who lasted that long actually stuck around Errera. David himself had been witness to the insane turnover rates, and yet it seemed like the place always had enough tenders for any given moment in time, so it was never a problem, per se. Still, he was left wishing maybe he’d taken a few months off and then come back, just avoid this whole hassle. 

“When?” he asked, pulling at the strings of his apron. “Can I have…”

“Nope!” Tracy said cheerfully, producing a keycard from her pocket. Managers had access to nearly the whole club, and clearly she was prepared to send him off like a good little boy. “You’ll be covering room five. Have fun dear, and make us proud.”

Room five. David was left staring at the woman for a moment as she waved the card around, mostly because he couldn’t fathom the decision. Him, in room five? The largest, most luxurious, and most reserved of the private rooms beyond the owner’s box. There were always rumors about the purposes of five. David had been in there only once before, earlier this week for that matter to restock its bar, and it had been just as lavish as he’d been told. Lavish but lacking the sorts of touches he knew some of the other private rooms had, like beds. Five, it was said, got rented out by the high brow clients, the heads of mega-corporations for private negotiations. It was said that the mayor used that room when he was dealing with political rivals. And it was said that not one or two, but seven different major mercenary operations known for massive collateral damage and loss of innocent lives had happened in that very room. 

Granted, if someone believed all of the rumors about Errera’s back rooms, well, this place would probably be haunted about eighty times over, and was the location for the conception of the illegitimate love-children of every controversial politician and public figure on Adaptive. 

Still, being trusted with something on the level of room five was probably a serious show of confidence from his superiors, the ones high above Tracy’s head. Room five meant keeping your damn mouth shut. Room five meant nothing acting like nothing that happened while you were in there was real. Go in early in the evening, and no matter when you left it was with a huge tip that was clearly meant to buy silence, and remind you just how powerful the people you were pouring for could be. David was being trusted to be just another piece of furniture, to be seen but not heard, to be of use and then utterly unremarkable. 

“Davie, you have to get up there,” Tracy’s voice reminded him, and with a deep breath David reached out and plucked the card from her hands. The thing was lightweight and didn’t burn his fingers when he touched it, so he supposed there was nothing to be afraid of. David breathed out a sigh of relief, not even sure what he’d been so worried about, and moved away from the bar. 

“Oh, and Davie, remember to take your helmet off when you’re up there. Boss’s rules.”

With a deep breath he just walked away from the bar and toward the back staircase the keycard would open the door for. He was on his way up, literally. Room five, here he came.


	2. Chapter 2

Errera had a reputation of having not the best, but the very best of the very best of everything. Their DJs were always at the pinnacle of popularity and skill. The dancers they paid to entertain on the raised platforms of dance floor two were all masters of the craft, students of local dance schools from what David understood. The cooks that did the limited food service to the private rooms were award winning in one realm or another. And the supplies of alcohol and the concoctions that came from them were all impressive in their range of selection and their quality. Their bottom rung drinks were all done with a minimum of what most places would consider middle shelf liquors, and David took pride in the selection when he was inventory or shelving duties before opening. 

None of that compared to Room Five. Now that David stood behind the black glass bar and looked at his supplies, he actually had to capitalize the place. Turned out that the stock he’d brought up last week was only the ‘cheap’ stuff. Granted it was all top-shelf alcohols, every last one that he’d put in place. But when he’d run the keycard and his employee ID through the card readers under the bar to unlock the displays he’d found the shelves he’d stocked to be… well, the casual selection for the room. He had actually gaped as the plas-steel shelves had split in the middle, spread open, and lights had turned on to bathe the other selection in the previously hidden shelves in a sparkling, if icy blue, tone. David couldn’t help himself, awe making him hold his breath as he reached up and out to stroke the label of a bottle of fifty year old Richese Scotch. David had heard stories about the stuff, not from anyone he worked with, but rather from his father. The old man had been an ‘aficionado’ as he put it, and whenever he was with new people he was trying to impress, he would talk about the time he’d tasted the illusive creation. And here, right where David could actually look at it, touch it, was that very thing. Beautiful. 

If only he cared for scotch at all. 

“Impressive, is it not?” 

The voice, smooth as a good scotch and sharp as a whip in the way it cut through his thoughts, made David’s hand flinch away from the bottle. Somewhere else he might have just ignored the interruption and acted like he was checking the inventory. But the only way someone would have access to this room would be with a keycard, or if they were permitted entrance by the individual renting it. So rather than pretend he was doing what he was supposed to, David turned to the customer and put on his most charming smile. 

“I was thinking such myself, sir,” he greeted his employer for the evening. The man was an older gentleman than David was used to seeing around Errera, but he tried not to think that much of it, especially given the fact that he had a deceptively simple looking suit that was impeccably tailored to his form in a tasteful charcoal gray and a collarless black shirt. It was a style David had seen in vids of wealthy businessmen these days, some movement away from the stiff-formality of ties, or maybe men on adaptive hated trying to find ties that were both interesting and matched their helmets. But the color combination almost perfectly matched the black hair peppered with a darker gray that the man wore swept back, and it was almost enough to hide the grayer hairs in his carefully managed goatee and mustache. The result of it all was a rather composed looking man who didn’t seem to belong in this sort of world in the slightest. But, David supposed, if you were going to drop the kind of money that was needed to have access to Room Five, then fuck, you might as well look the part, right? 

“Then clearly you have an appreciation for the finer things in life,” the man noted, moving to the bar where David was waiting attentively. “I shall take two fingers of it.”

David tilted his head in a minor acknowledgement, and realizing that someone from Adaptive might not read it the same way, smiled after. “Coming right up, sir.”

The man nodded his approval and as David turned his attention to his work, he could hear the man walking away. In a way he was disappointed. Here he’d hoped there would be something interesting going on tonight, and instead he just had a business man who wanted to do… well, whatever. Perhaps he was meeting here with a mistress, intent on cheating on his wife in comfort and privacy. After all, there were no cameras in the back halls of the club, or in this room itself. Or so David presumed. Maybe there were hidden ones, here to keep employees in line to keep them from stealing or making use of the room on their own. Either way the man had a somber air around him that said this was going to be slow. Swallowing back a sigh David made the drink and moved to offer it to the man who had seated himself in one of the sinfully comfortable looking armchairs. 

“Thank you,” the man noted, but his voice was a bit dismissive, so David didn’t respond, just headed back to his post. “I suppose I need not tell you that anything you see or hear here is to be repeated to any parties.”

“No, sir,” David agreed as he reached the counter and started to wipe it down. 

“Good. You are here to neither be seen nor heard unless you are needed.”

Wow, way to make him feel good about himself. David gripped his towel tightly, trying not to let his lack of patience escape him. The last thing he needed was to roll his eyes at this fucking asshole and get himself…

The door slid open so silently that David only realized that they had been joined by another person when he heard the footsteps. These were heavier, moved like they still carried the beat of the music downstairs in them. Well, at least someone here wasn’t uptight. David looked up to look over the newcomer and froze so utterly that he was pretty sure he wasn’t breathing. In fact, he wasn’t. Didn’t know it until his lungs ached in protest and the rich asshole standing up broke the moment. Immediately David returned his eyes to the counter and tried, desperately hard, not to look at the person who had come in. 

Karim looked good, better than good, in the tight jeans and the heavy, non-descript leather coat. Not that they were really his style at all. David was used to him in brighter, warmer colors. Oranges and reds that were a sunset-spread of beauty against the rich brown of his skin, those were what Karim was made for. Everything he owned was somewhere in that range of colors, just like David preferred to default to grays, blacks, and a hint of gold. But this Karim? This was different. Everything was black with an edge of dark brown, many shades darker than his skin tone, and all with a darker hue. The whole thing made Karim look a bit like a shadow, which, he realized, was the point. 

“You would be the…”

When the older man seemed to be caught up on what to call Karim, David watched as his ex put on a bored expression, his arms crossed over his chest, and for the life of him he didn’t think he’d ever seen the man cross his eyes before. 

“If you want to be flowery about it, call me a freelance acquisitions agent. But we tend to prefer if you’re up front and call us what we are,” Karim interrupted, his voice as bored and dismissive as his expression. “Mercenary. Merc. Paid gun. Whatever. But I’m not here to quibble about semantics. I want to get the job done and get paid, so can we just get down to business?”

“Of course. Would you like a drink?” the man asked, and David watched in almost slow-motion horror as the older man gestured with his drink toward where David was standing. No. No, please, don’t let this happen. 

“I don’t drink on the job,” Karim answered, turning his attention as prompted, and David could actually see the exact moment when it all registered to Karim. Not that those perfect brown eyes went wide or anything. In fact, the other man was far more composed than David thought he might be in that situation. There was just a poise that anyone might take as unruffled confidence. David knew better. He knew how still, how controlled Karim was when he was surprised. Maybe this explained it. God… Karim, a mercenary, and looking at him. 

“I suppose I can make an exception though. If it’s non-alcoholic.”

And then there was Karim, walking toward him. What was David even supposed to do?

“You know how to make a recovery, kid?” Karim asked, and David tried not to bristle at that. He had two years on his ex, but probably wasn’t fitting for the stranger to know that they knew each other. 

Thing was, David knew Karim. Which, he supposed, was why this worked. He had, after all, created a variation on the popular cocktail that was completely non-alcoholic to cater to his boyfriend’s tastes. Which, clearly, was what he wanted here. Still, there was a significant look given to him as Karim stopped by the bar. Clearly he was trying to block his employer, and there was a pleading look on his face. 

“Why should I care about betraying I know you?” David grumbled under his breath, watching the man frown before he started to gather the necessary parts of the drink, including pulling out the high quality apple brandy that would have been used for the drink for anyone else. 

“Can we just talk about this later?” Karim mumbled. “I’m working right now.”

“You’re not the only one,” David hissed out.

With that he turned the full of his attention to the work at hand. Which meant that, in moments, he was offering over the completed drink and then turning the full of his attention to the bar again. His job was to work, not be seen, not be heard. So as Karim walked away with his drink, David pretended that this wasn’t actually happening, wouldn’t happen, would stop happening. Instead he stayed silent through the whole thing. A whole hour they were there, David listening to Karim negotiate price and timeline. Apparently the man wanted him to break into a secure medical facility and acquire some documents and other items labeled very specifically. David tried not to watch as the man slid a piece of paper across to Karim with the information on it. 

After an hour an agreement seemed settled, and Karim leaned across a glass top table to shake the older man’s hand. It was only then that David looked up, only as Karim was standing and looked briefly at him. 

“Good drink,” Karim said, not that he seemed very interested in what he was saying. With that he turned, grabbing his coat, and was gone. 

David waited until the door closed behind his ex to sweep forward and take his empty glass. Then he looked briefly at the other man, the one who had rented the room, and tilted his head curiously. 

“Can I get you something else, sir?”

The man frowned and shook his head. “No. That will be all. You are free to leave now.”

“Of course sir. I would warn you, though, that when I depart, Errera will no longer be providing service here unless you summon up another bartender. To do so just touch the pad by the door. We will have someone up straight away.”

The man nodded and waved a dismissive hand. David just bowed, taking a moment to clean the glasses and shut down the expensive display of alcohol with a swipe of his ID before he slipped out of the room. That done David went back down to the plas-dome bar and smiled to Tracy before he resettled his helmet on his head. Maybe if he focused hard enough on the music and lights, he could forget what he saw. 

As if it could ever be that easy. 

Really, he should have seen the message coming only half an hour later. A single word from a familiar frequency he had feared to see. 

Help. 

“David?” Tracy asked as he stripped his helmet and apron off, tucking them under his arm. “David, where are you going?”

If only he knew. Without answering, David walked away. Running now would only make things work. It wasn’t until he was in the back halls that he let himself run, bolting full speed to the employee changing room. 

He didn’t think he ever changed quite so fast as he did with that message hanging over his head.


	3. Chapter 3

Caution had always and would always be the better part of valor. Or, at least, that was what David had learned in the service. Go in after a lost man, yes. Bring your team out alive, yes. Take down the enemy and complete your objectives, yes. There had even been a few situations that he’d been forced to put those skills to use during his service. Not, of course, that the UNSC army had too much to do other than train since the distant ending of the war which had made major steps towards unifying the greater part of humanity and it’s colony worlds. Hell, even the mostly undeclared war against the Separatist Movement had ended just after David had joined up. But there were always things that planetary governments might ask of their established branches of the UNSC. ‘Put down this drug cartel’ or ‘help rescue people from this terrible transport crash’ or ‘deal with a terrorist organization that we can’t handle.’ 

Normally it wasn’t a problem, of course. The military served, with no restraints or worries, in part because the loyalty of their men and women were to the UNSC, not to the world they served on. No one was ever trained on or deployed to their homeworld, to prevent conflicts of interest. And so David had found himself training on one of the more ecologically disastrous of humanity’s worlds. Not because he had experience from his own homeworld that would suit it. Not because Adaptive often called on the UNSC to mediate in conflicts between the city-states that were scattered across the surface of the more or less barren mining world. No, it was because his father was a fucking UNSC Army hero turned Major General stationed on a core world and no one wanted to be responsible for putting his son into an active hotzone. No, better to trust him to a world where taking a breath outside was a danger. Still, David had proved himself, and his CO who hadn’t given a fuck about powerful patronage had recognized David’s potential and put the promising Corporal into the position to prove himself time and time again. 

Caution, his CO had always reminded him, was the better part of valor. How many times had those words rung in David’s head while out on missions sanctioned by one city-state or another to do ops they needed done, and done within UNSC regulations? How often had he told himself that as he stood by silently and assured himself that it was okay that they were being used as pawns in the ongoing power struggle of this planet that tried to wipe humanity off of it with every passing day? And when, he wondered, had it not been enough to stand by and watch the way this world operated like ‘legal’ was this very vague concept of right and wrong that was waved off in attacks, spying, theft, and accepted mercenary practices? Watching the UNSC stand back and let this happen, let this go on, not step in and enforce the proper behaviors of civilized planets and colonies had to have broken him at some point. When, David wondered, had that been? He couldn’t remember. 

What he remembered was that caution was the better part of valor. That, he supposed, was why when the clerk that had processed his discharge had reminded him that UNSC wasn’t appreciated in the cities, he had taken it seriously. The second thing that David had done after getting to Gulch and getting himself a small apartment in a towering condo building, had been to go to the nearest gun store and get himself a weapon. Why he spent a night every week keeping up with his skills at a gun range. Why a kevlar vest he had acquired through less than legitimate means was always in the backseat of his truck. 

These were the first things on his mind as David pulled his beaten up truck to a stop two blocks from the location marked with an amber dot on his GPS. That was where Karim’s message had come from, and until he had an argument against it, he was going to assume the other man was there. Part of him wanted to drive closer, to get there faster, but caution was… well, he didn’t need to repeat that point a hundred times over. Instead he just turned the vehicle off, pulled the vest on over the beat up t-shirt he had selected by merit of cleanness when he’d showered before work, and lamented how loose it felt. He hadn’t worn any form of body armor since his discharge, and it felt both impossibly heavy and frustratingly light. Civilian grade stuff would never, he supposed, match military. But it was what he had, and as he reached for the pistol and started tucking clips into his pockets and pouches on the vest, he had to hope it would be enough. 

Move slowly, his head told himself even as his heart shouted to rush. The clear winner, of course, was David slowly getting out of the truck, closing the door as quietly as he could, and moving to get some cover against the side of the building he had parked by. For a moment he considered turning the lights on his helmet on, but then just crouched low and started to move quickly down the road. Anytime he came up on a place where an enemy might be able to hide he stopped briefly, checked around the corner with his gun out, and when he was satisfied, he advanced further. 

No one told the man in gray and blue at the end of the alley about caution and valor. The man was just standing there at the mouth of the alley, a M7 sub-machine gun fully extended with the stock braced poorly against his shoulder, his attention clearly further down the alley. The man didn’t seem concerned with being seen by someone and getting the cops called in. He didn’t seem bothered at all by the idea of cover. In fact he just stood there, his stance loose and terrible for all that he had the gun up. 

“Come on, kid, you’re going to run out of bullets sooner or later,” the man calls, and the amusement in his voice disgusts David. “Just give up and I promise to make it quick and painless.”

“Fuck… you!” a voice called from down the alley, behind a dumpster if David was any judge, and the pant in it, the sort of pain that sounded like there was grit teeth and silent tears behind it, was what made him move. Granted the movement was to tuck his pistol into the back of his pants, safety on, and stroll down the street. His steps were silent, quiet, a prowler’s pace. 

In another situation, one without helmets, he would have just come up to the guy, tapped him on the shoulder, and knocked him out with a punch. As it was David slipped up behind the man and, after a calming breath, lunged forward. It was far too easy to get his arm wrapped around the asshole’s throat, to lock his arm in place by bracing his free hand against it, and while he winced at the sound of the gun clattering to the cement, it was quiet enough not to be too much of a concern. David held him, pulling the man back and down a bit to keep him from moving easily, and he just held tight, not letting up even as the man slapped at his arm and tried in vain to claw at his head, anything to get out of the hold as David slowly choked him out. 

“Should have held onto your gun,” he whispered as the fight started to go out of the man. “But don’t worry. You just give up, and I promise I won’t snap your neck.”

He got a pathetic croak as the man’s arms went limp, and he held on just a bit longer to make sure that he’d knocked the target out. Then he slowly lowered the stranger to the ground. Still no movement. Good, he’d taken care of that, which meant he could go to Karim. Well, no, not just yet. Training said disarm the man first, and so, despite the concern, David quickly patted the person down, acquiring two mags of ammo for the man’s weapon, a grenade, and knife. Part of him worried over the fact that the asshole had a grenade, and wondered over the fact that it hadn’t been used. Could only mean he was supposed to bring Karim, or at least something Karim was carrying, in with him. Not the best sign, but David had dealt with this man, and after collapsing the stock on the man’s weapon and checking to make sure there wasn’t a biolock on it, he moved down the alley at a slow pace. 

“Karim,” he called out, his voice a hissing whisper. There was always the chance that this man wasn’t alone. Granted, the fact that no one had stopped David despite the noise of taking him down, he had to assume he was alone. “Karim, I’m here. Don’t shoot. Where are you?”

“Here,” his voice called weakly from behind the dumpster, and David barely caught sight of a hand waving, a hand gloved in black and brown and the uneven glint of liquid. Heart in his throat David moved quickly and cautiously down the alley before ducking down behind the dumpster. 

Karim looked like shit, it didn’t take a medic to see that. The second David was at his side his left hand wrapped back around himself, and the way his shoulders tensed told David all he needed to know about how badly that had to hurt. But the way Karim’s arm curled in tightly around himself wasn’t in the way David had seen from injured arms before. No, his hand was slipping under his coat and pressing firmly against his side. David half wished he could take his helmet off, could smell for the blood he knew had to be in the air, but he wasn’t willing to risk that and he knew any hint of it would be scrubbed by his helmet’s filters. Maybe that was for the best. 

“What happened?” he asked very carefully as he pulled his coat off from over his kevlar vest. As he opened Karim’s coat he winced to see the spread of darker color over the man’s dark brown shirt. Blood, no doubt. David grit his teeth, lifted Karim’s hand, and frowned at the wound. What sort of idiot went into this work without some measure of protective gear? No, he wasn’t going to chide the other man now. Instead he folded his coat quickly and pushed it firmly against the wound. He’d seen worse, a lot worse, and if he got Karim to a hospital, he could pull through this. 

“They were waiting for me,” Karim gasped in pain as David pressed the fabric firmly against his wound. Not that David could let it stay like that. He grabbed Karim’s hand and encouraged the man silently to hold it in place with as much pressure as he could. “Don’t, oh god Davie it hurts…”

“I know, but I also need to know what I’m dealing with to get you out of here, Kar. Please,” David said as he worked the GPS in his helmet to bring up the nearest hospital. Three miles away wasn’t too bad. He could load Karim up in the truck and get there in no time. 

“First one followed me, I guess. When I got near the target, he drew security’s attention down on me,” Karim hissed in pain as David started looking Karim over for any other wounds. There weren’t any obvious, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t internal damage. Probably was. “Had to abort, wanted to come from another angle, but had to take care of tail first. We ended up here after security stopped chasing. Tried to get my employer out of me. Not sure why, but… oh god…”

Instinct and training made David reach for the PMK that should be on his belt, but no, this wasn’t the military, and as he touched the pistol at his back, he remembered that. Fuck. He had no pain medicine, no biofoam, not even a sedative. Be prepared? Like hell he was prepared. There was going to be a fully stocked kit in his truck this time tomorrow. But for now, he had someone else to focus on. 

“Come on, we’re getting you out of here,” David said at last, leaning down to pick Karim up. “I’m getting you to a hospital and they’ll get you…”

David was cut off as he started to stand. His helmet must have just peeked out from over the dumpster because a gun went off and then his head was jerking a little to the side. Immediately he was back down, lowering Karim, his hand coming up to stroke over his helmet. He could feel a slight dent on the top of it, but tried to shake that off. They missed, that was what was important. 

“You didn’t take them both out?” Karim whimpered through the pain, presumably from being lifted or dropped. 

“You didn’t tell me there was two,” David growled in protest. He made sure Karim was set carefully out of the way, handing over his pistol. “Just in case.”

“Got my own,” Karim answered, and David shook his head. 

“Figure you’re out of bullets just… just hold it,” David insisted. Then he got down, stretching himself out on the cement of the alley. Once he was fully stretched out he pulled the submachine gun out in front of him, and took a deep breath. 

“I’m getting you out of this, I promise,” he whispered to his ex-boyfriend as he took one last breath, settled the gun before him, and rolled out of cover. The second he could see toward the road he opened fire, and the screams of pain as he let loose were more than enough to tell him of a hit.

Ankles, no one ever really thought to protect them. 

The person at the end of the alley was whimpering in pain, sprawled on the ground, and David quickly scrambled to his feet. He ran down the alley and kicked the gun out of the squirming woman’s hands before she could raise it against him. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “but I’m in a rush. I’ll call an ambulance for you once I’ve got him out of here. I promise.”

Always had too soft a heart, he was told. David tried not to think as he kicked the woman as hard as he could in the helmet and she went limp as her head snapped a bit to the side. He didn’t let himself look at her legs as he ran back for Karim. His concern right now had to be getting him help, not in worrying about someone who had just tried to kill him. There were priorities, and as David rushed back down the alley and got Karim into his arms, he just hoped he’d gotten his right. 

This was, he figured, the sort of risk the people attacking Karim had agreed to. Right?


	4. Chapter 4

Cooperation isn’t enough to make a job easy. David had that lesson reinforced throughout his life, but nothing quite compared to the task of getting Karim into his truck. As much as his ex-boyfriend tried to work with him, tried to move how he was told and struggled to keep pressure on the wound, David knew it wasn’t exactly helping that he was getting stressed out over it. Thing was, he used to be equipped to handle this, and now… And now he’s just a bartender in over his head with a new gun that he’s putting into the toolbox under a tarp in the back of his truck, and all he can do is hope he’s doing this right. 

“Hold on, Karim. The hospital isn’t far,” David said as he got the seatbelt on and moved to close the door of the truck. 

Truth be told, he wasn’t expecting Karim’s hand to flash out, grab him by the neck of his vest, and pull him in close. The fact that Karim had mustered the strength for that was promising, the way that his hand was shaking in its grip was not. Quite the opposite in fact. What were the chances of shock? But taking the time to check for shock wasn’t as important as getting him to a hospital. 

“No,” Karim rasped out in pain. “You can’t.”

“I have to,” David protested, reaching up to easy Karim’s hand off of him. “I promise they’ll take care of you. I promise…”

“Need to finish the job.”

It was a stupid thing for him to demand, and David just breaks Karim’s grip before closing the door. How could this asshole be so stupid as to insist on finishing a completely illegal job when his life was on the line? David shook his head and ran around the truck, tugging his vest off as he went. Once he was in the truck the vest went into the back seat, the pistol and ammo into the glove box, and the grenade he wrapped in the scarf he had been wearing and tucked into the back behind his seat. Safe disposal of that would have to be dealt with later. Then he was throwing the truck into gear.

And Karim’s hand settled on his arm. 

“David, please. Hospitals…”

“I could care less if they ask too many questions,” David dismissed as he started down the street. “They can help…”

“They’ll keep me,” Karim protested as David turned left onto a major street. “Overnight.”

“So?”

“Gotta… finish job.”

David tsked at that. What could be so important that the job had to be finished now? Reputation? What use was that if Karim was dead? He’d heard the job description from the old man at the bar too, but it hadn’t seemed like a pressing job. It was something Karim could easily do once he was better, or that the man could find a new merc for. 

“No,” David snapped as he instructed his GPS to find the least time route, accounting for traffic. “No, I’m not letting you die because you’re stupid.”

“Kamilah needs the money.”

Part of David wanted to slam on the brakes at that comment. Kamilah, Karim’s beloved little sister. When they’d broken up Kamilah had been perfectly fine. What the hell had happened? 

“She’s sick,” Karim grit out, his voice more strained than before. “Need the money. Got back into business for her. We need the money.”

Fuck. Dammit, that… The payout the man had been offering, it probably would help the girl. Or Karim was lying to manipulate David. God help him, he didn’t want to risk it. 

David pulled the car over on the side of the road and opened a message to Trace’s work helmet. 

Please tell me you know a good street doctor.

* * * * * *

It was far from easy to balance a whimpering, bleeding man in his arms and knock on the door of the rather non-descript slums looking building. Already he’d wasted too much time getting here. Getting to the hospital would have happened in no time flat, but the place Trace had given him wasn’t exactly in the way. So, frustrated and scared, he started kicking at the door. 

“Open up!” he shouted. Actually, really, that was probably a bad idea. Might make whoever was behind that door hide rather than opening up. “Please, he needs help!”

Maybe that was what did it, because there was the sound behind the door, a metal click and then a clang. The slip and slide of a few bolts and then the door was opening, a small woman in white and purple. She was small but stunning, her eyes a rich green that sparkled with amusement, her hair up in an off-center and very messy bun. And she looked tired. Young and tired, and not shocked at all to see him there. 

“Ouch, that doesn’t look good,” she said, standing aside and gesturing for David to come in. “Don’t say anything. I don’t wanna know. You’ll see the table to put him on when the airlock cycles okay?” 

There wasn’t really time to question, so David slipped past her into the airlock and waited for her to close it behind them. Once the outer hatch was closed she hit the filter and then punched the comm in the airlock.

“Bones, dear, you’ve got a visitor. Looks sorta bad,” the small woman said before turning her attention David. “What happened?” 

“Shot,” David answered briskly. “He passed out once on the ride over. Please, he needs…”

“I know,” the small woman said, reaching up to touch his arm lightly. “I know. We’re going to do our best for him, okay?”

David didn’t have a chance to answer before the inner door opened and he was faced with the sight of another woman, this one taller and looking far more conscious than the small woman at his side. She too wore white, but she was already pulling on latex gloves. When she gestured to a steel table though an arch covered with heavy plastic curtains, David moved forward to lay Karim out on the table. Then he was being pushed aside by the tall woman with the military short cropped hair and the disapproving look on her face. 

“Emmie, take him to the kitchen. Get the kid some coffee, and then get back here to help.”

As much as he wanted to protest, David saw the tall woman moving to pull a metal tray full of tools out of a steaming box, and he had to hope they would be enough. When the smaller woman, Emmie, pulled at his sleeve, David let himself be dragged out of the surprisingly clean and organized side room, and into a small kitchen. Emmie closed a swinging door behind her when they entered, and herded David to a chair. As she went to the coffee pot he reached up and took off his helmet. 

“Bones will do her best,” Emmie promised when she came over with a cup of hot coffee. “We’ll talk payment later, but not until he’s okay, alright? We don’t like twisting people’s arms on this, not when they’re vulnerable.”

“Will he be okay?” David asked. Because the idea of what could happen to Karim just…

“I don’t know,” Emmie admitted. “I really don’t know. But I can tell you that Bones has been doing this for a long time, and we’re going to do everything in our power to get your friend on his feet, okay?”

How was he supposed to answer that? David just set his helmet aside and took the offered mug. Watched as Emmie slid the sugar bowl across to him, and carefully measured out his four scoops. 

“Sweet tooth,” Emmie chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s not good for you. Anyway, if you’re hungry, check the fridge. There’s a TV on the counter if you need it, and if you check behind the breadbox, we’ve got magazines. I know it’s really terrible to have a doctor point you at magazines, but if you need them…”

David waved her off. That Bones woman had seemed to want Emmie back to help with Karim, and the last thing he wanted was to hold her back. Maybe the woman sensed that, or maybe she just took him at the implied word of the gesture. Because Emmie just reached up to pat his shoulder and then she was heading for the kitchen door. 

She stopped only briefly at the door to point at another. “Bathroom and laundry room are through there. In case you want to get cleaned up.”

It wasn’t until the door had swung shut behind her that David looked down at himself and realized what good advice that was. Sure, most of Karim’s blood from the first time had gotten on his vest, and he was certain his coat was now soaked with it and discarded on the floor of the clean operating area the street docs had set up, but that didn’t mean he was clean. Carrying Karim in from the truck had been without anything between him and the man, and when he looked he could see the blood that had seeped into his shirt, leaving an oblong shape that made him suddenly feel almost violently ill. Strange to think that he could be so easily upset by something like this. He was in the military. He should be better at processing these sorts of things, right? 

Slowly David pushed to his feet and made for the room that Emmie had pointed him to. Sure enough it was a bathroom, a rather large one for a place that had looked rather disappointing from the outside. As Emmie had said there was a small washer and dryer in the room, and David pulled off his shirt to throw it in. Of course the process of peeling it off only revealed to him how it stuck to his skin, showed him the blood that had gone through and was now on his skin. He needed to be clean, so desperately needed to be clean. Within moments David had stripped down and was climbing under the hot water that came from the small shower in the back corner. 

For a moment, if he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was back in his apartment. That this was a normal night and he had just gotten off a shift at Errera, that his body needed to relax. Usually he didn’t mind that at all. He’d stand there with his eyes closed under the hot spray and revel in the fact that he could do that for more than just a few minutes, he wasn’t limited by military regs. His hands came up and slowly massaged through his hair, wanted to just reach for that illusion of comfort. Not that it worked. No amount of hot water and quiet could make it better, could make him forget. With a sigh David opened his eyes and reached for the soap, focusing his attention on getting the blood off of himself. 

A few minutes later he fumbled for the towel he had seen next to the shower and shut off the water. In the silence of the room he moved to dry himself off, trying to lose himself in the repetitive action of rubbing himself dry. Even as he did his mind wandered back to the plastic covered arch and the table beyond it, where Karim lay. Who were these people that Trace had sent him to? They seemed well prepared, hadn’t they? Bones at least had that quiet confidence he’d seen of medics back in the service, the sort of people who were trained to operate in a crisis, to not give up that calm until lives weren’t depending on them. Surely that was for the best?

Slowly he pulled his clothes back on before draping the towel over a bar in the bathroom. His eyes flicked to the washer and found nearly ten minutes had passed while he was getting clean. Still a while to wait then. With a sigh he just focused on making sure his pants, his socks, his shoes were all straight, then returned to the kitchen. 

It was silent. There wasn’t any shouting beyond the door, not a noise. Perhaps, he thought, the door was heavy enough to drown out the sounds. Since he couldn’t bring himself to push the thing open to look, he returned to the table and his cold coffee. Too cold to drink, too sweet to abandon, he found himself getting up after another minute to reheat the thing in the microwave. And while he was there he turned on the TV, grabbed the remote, and took a pile of magazines from behind the breadbox. Maybe if he distracted himself long enough they could come in and give him the good news. 

The magazines were old, months old, and the channel he chose was showing reruns of the latest popular cop drama, a revamping of some centuries old cult classic called ‘Law and Order’. The news was old, the story lines tired, and David was into his third mug of coffee before there was a noise at the door. When he looked up what he found wasn’t Emmie there, but the tall woman. 

She didn’t have to tell him. He could see it in her posture, in the way she wasn’t looking straight at him, in the way all of her drooped. 

David had to give himself credit. He didn’t flip the kitchen table.


	5. Chapter 5

The amount of time between when Bones came in with the bad news and David managed to leave actually exceeded the time left on the washer and dryer. He wanted out of there, and he wanted out of there now. The last thing he wanted to see was the body of his friend, of his ex-boyfriend, of the man he had failed to save. What if he’d been there earlier maybe things would have been better. If he’d taken Karim to the hospital like he’d intended to maybe the man would have survived. Maybe a lot of things. Maybe… 

Getting out of there was paramount, and while Bones had been okay with that, had promised to help see that Karim got back to his family for David, Emmie grabbed his arm and tried to stop him. Tried to make him promise not to go out there and get hurt. Tried to make him calm down. Calm, though, was the furthest thing from David’s mind. There was anger, there was doubt, there was outrage, and there was concern burning below that. Concern for the only person’s life he could effect at the moment. 

Maybe Kamilah wasn’t doing too bad. Maybe it was a minor thing. Maybe Karim had lied to keep his behavior out of public record. No matter what, though, David couldn’t risk the idea that the girl would suffer because he’d failed to be there in time for her brother. The girl, only ten, had always been sweet to him. She’d called him big brother David when Karim had introduced them, and even bought him a birthday present after Karim had broken it off with him. It was for her that David shook of Emmie’s grip and asked Bones if she could wait just a bit longer before being paid. Told her he had to finish the job to get the money. She’d brushed off the offer to pay at all, saying she hadn’t done the job. And when he’d asked if she knew someone that could better kit him out… 

Emmie radiated disapproval as David put his helmet back on and headed back into the night, but the younger woman called after him anyway. Wished him luck and angrily ordered him to come back alive. David waved it off and put the directions into his helmet. There was a job to be done. People to put in their places, a little girl to save, and a man to shout down after it was all done. But first, he needed something with a bit more weight than a pistol and an SMG. 

Before he left Bones thrust a piece of paper with her frequency on it into his hands. ‘Just in case’ she said as she kissed the center of his forehead. ‘Don’t break Emmie’s heart by being another body we have to stitch up.’ David just huffed and went out to his truck. That was a promise he wasn’t certain he could keep. Chances were, he was going to get himself fucked up tonight, and there was nothing between him and that but the bulletproof vest, his skill, and the man they were sending him toward. 

The directions led to a seemingly random warehouse in the furthest, clearly abandoned reaches of the warehouse district. Before he turned off the truck David had to sit there and consider what he saw before him. The place was clearly one of those prefab things that dominated the outer edges of any Adaptive city, one large enough to be converted into plague cloud secure housing for at least twenty families if they were willing to live in the more constrained space expected of soldiers. Or, at least, it wouldn’t be bad if there weren’t all the holes and tears in the outer walls that he could see by his headlights. Still, if Bones told him this was the place, this was the place. With a sigh David reached back for his vest, only to discard it when a moment of examination revealed that it, like the coat he had left behind with the street doctors, was covered with Karim’s blood. He couldn’t drop the thing fast enough when he saw that. Which meant he was going into a place supposedly filled with weapons, unexpectedly, and hope that he didn’t get shot for his presence. Was that too much to hope for? Time would tell. 

Deep breaths. Caution is the better part of blah blah blah. David brushed it all aside and turned off the truck before getting to his feet. Time to go. Time to move. Time to be doing something. And that something, it just so happened, was getting his ass out of the truck and moving toward the building. Don’t slink, he reminded himself as he moved, trying to keep himself straight, his hands in the pockets of his pants. The last thing he needed was to get shot for a shifty approach. Yet, as close as he got, there didn’t seem to be even a hint of someone watching for his approach. That didn’t make the approach feel any less infinite. Each step one further over asphalt, maybe one closer to death. Each step one closer to maybe getting shot in the face. Or foot. He wasn’t sure which was more likely, but he refused to do anything other than stare at the door he was approaching. If he was going to go down, it was going to be with his head high, not with him staring at the cracks in the asphalt the last thought on his mind. 

Infinite distance, and yet he made it there, right up to the airlock, with no problems. David almost allowed himself a sigh of relief, but it was far from over, right? Not that hesitation would ever get him anywhere. David reached for the keypad by the airlock door, ready to hit the call button, but even as he reached out a green light confirming the outer door was unlocked flashed to life. Well, there went the question of whether he was being watched or not. Clearly he’d not only been studied on his approach, but deemed worthy of overcoming another obstacle. This time David did allow himself a deep breath as he pulled the airlock door open and stepped into it. Once he closed the outer door the red light went on in the corner as the filtration fans kicked in full bore. David closed his eyes, leaned against one of the walls of the large, warehouse sized airlock, and he waited. Sooner or later one of the doors would open. Or they wouldn’t.

Wow, what a morbid thought, one David had never considered before. What would happen to someone if an airlock failed? If it didn’t just pull air, but failed to pump it back in? What if neither door ever unlocked and he starved? What if a system was set-up to reverse the process, blowing plague chemicals into the sealed environment? Interesting as the thoughts were, he was freed from them as the inner door opened and he was faced with a silhouetted figure very clearly holding a shotgun on him. 

“Warm welcome,” he greeted as he pushed off of the wall and waited for his helmet to filter down the light behind the clearly feminine figure and allow him a better sight of who was threatening him. 

“Well,” a smooth, deep, and also decidedly feminine voice greeted him with a light chuckle, “a lady has to watch out for herself, right?”

“I suppose,” David agreed with a shrug. “Before you ask, a street doctor that goes by Bones told me about this place.”

“I know sweetie,” the woman answered as she stepped back, her shotgun still trained on David, “she called me to give me a heads up. But too careful isn’t a thing in my book.”

The step back put the woman into full light, granting David a look at her. On another night he would have called her more than just a beauty, with yellow eyes that were no doubt the product of some genetic line with background gene-mods, which stood in beautiful contrast to the warm ochre cast of her skin and the rich chestnut of her hair. Alone that would have made her a woman he would have given a free drink to when he was working, but when paired with the camo green dress accented with gold, he might have asked her out. But tonight was about work, and the gun she had trained on him and the ammo laden belt reminded him why he was here. 

“Then you know what I’m here for,” he said as he stepped out into the warehouse and removed his helmet. 

“Revenge isn’t pretty or cheap, dear,” she warned him, finally lowering her gun. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

David answered by pulling one of the two things he’d taken from Karim’s body out of his pocket and tossing it toward her. The woman snatched the credstick from the air and her smile faded to a pitying expression. At least the message was clear, he decided. 

“Come on then, let’s see about getting you loaded up,” she answered, slipping the stick into an empty place in her ammo belt. The shotgun was placed by the airlock door as she closed it, and then with a gesture she was walking off, each step punctuated by the light click of her heels over the warehouse floor. 

As she walked off David finally found himself comfortable enough to look around, and what he found was both shocking and not all that surprising. Honestly he didn’t know what he’d expected once he’d figured out this wasn’t going to be some gangbanger selling out of the back of an SUV, but the display cases, the racks of gear, the crates of weapons really wasn’t what he’s have put his money on. But that, shockingly, was what he had, along with hints of a sealed off gun range near the back. Whoever this woman was, she was big time, probably one of those black market dealers who made sure mercenaries had what they needed for their jobs. And, David found when he cast his eyes down the wall near him in search of the tears he knew had to be there from the outside, he found each of them carefully sealed from the inside. So much went into the presentation, honestly, he was impressed. 

“So, ground rules dear,” the woman spoke from further away and David ran to catch up to her. “The Emporium is neutral territory, absolute rule. You run into someone that rubs you the wrong way, a merc who has crossed you before, even someone that has tried to kill you, you leave that outside, okay? All of your own weapons are left outside, or if you’re bringing them in to sell, put in one of the locked bins I have outside for that purpose. Just bring in the tag from the bin after you seal it and I’ll sort through while you browse and give you my offer. None of the weapons here are loaded unless I’m taking them back to the range for you to test, and you get to clean them when you’re done. Ammo is sold separately and your purchases are loaded into one of those lovely bins from inside, I give you the one-time code to open it, and you load up outside. To keep the peace. I have security cameras that make sure that area is clear, and I’ve got hidden turrets, so don’t you consider jumping someone for their goods. Oh, and you can’t carry anything out through the front door. There are RFID threats in every piece I sell, and the airlock won’t open if it reads one nearby. The process of putting them through the bins disarms the things. With me so far kid?”

David didn’t correct the kid line as he followed her back to what was clearly a central processing area, with lovely a lovely glass case displaying everything from knives to other small, melee arms like batons and even hatchets. This was clearly a serious businesswoman who had built up her brand through careful deals and the obvious security conscious way she approached life. Again he thought that were this any other day he’d probably try to get her name, but as it was he just nodded as she stopped behind the counter and smiled at him. 

“Mind if I have your name for my records?” she asked sweetly as she moved to a computer and pulled up a holo-keypad. “And contact info. I send out announcements of special deals or incoming shipments of rare goods, or just when I have improvements on the gear someone has previously bought. I’m a one stop shop for all your violent needs, no background checks necessary, well, except for making sure you have your credentials in with the IFF.”

“IFF?” David asked, frowning. He wasn’t sure he wanted to think about anything like this after tonight. Finish the job and go back to his life. 

“International Fixer Federation,” the woman provided with a sweet smile as she picked up a headset in the exact same shade of green as her leggings. “They’re who certified and rated mercenaries go through for jobs. You’re a little green aren’t you? Bones seemed to mention something like that…”

“You could say that,” David sighed. “I’m not… certified or anything like that. I don’t care how the business works. It’s tonight and only tonight. I have to…”

His fists clenched at his sides as he thought about everything that happened. About Karim’s cold body on a steel table, a sheet dragged up over all but his face. He thought about Kamilah, the little sister Karim had been doing this for. Considered his longing for revenge, to set things right and just get through the night with his life. 

He must have looked away, because he didn’t see the woman move. Just felt warm, calloused fingers alight just barely on one clenched hand. When he looked up the woman was leaning over the counter, a soft, sad look on her face. 

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice just as concerned as her expression. “It’s okay. Just tonight I’ll wave it. Bones said something about a friend of yours. Were they maybe a…?”

“They have names, right? Titles? I don’t know what his was,” David admits. “He… he wore brown and black, a bomber jacket and…”

“I know him,” she cut David off. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll just put this down under him. Give me a minute and we’ll see if we can’t get you geared up, alright?”

David just nodded in response. Just get the gear and get moving. Finish the job. For Kamilah. For Karim. For himself.


	6. Chapter 6

More sense might have been made about the turn his life had taken tonight if David could explain one little thing… Just why was it that the place Karim was hired to break into turned out to be a medical record storage facility? 

David dismissed the question as he parked his truck in a lot just up the street from the facility. The new vest he had gotten from the beautiful weapons dealer went on over his clothes, no jacket to go with it despite her offer of giving him one. She’d been kind, too kind with him, and David knew she’d given him discounts. That there was clearly more going on than he was willing to talk about, and David was still very happy that she hadn’t attempted to prod at him about it. But now, thanks to her there were a number of weapons to his name, and as David got out of the cab and looked into the bed of his truck he contemplated the old, forgotten tools of his trade. 

The M45 Tactical Shotgun had been the close quarters weapon of choice of his unit, and David had been happy to see that the old pump action shotgun had been on her shelves. That, hung from a strap, went around his back after he buckled on the ammo belt that held extra shells for it as well as the spare magazines for his other weapon. Once he was certain the thing wasn’t going to move around too much David pulled out the true jewel he’d picked up. Back in the service his marksmanship on the BR55 Heavy Barrel Service Rifle had been unmatched not just in his unit, but in the whole damn division. He couldn’t even calculate the number of hours he’d put in on the range working on his accuracy in all three of its firing modes. He was deadly with single shot, potentially devastating with full-auto, but really, he preferred the moderately assured lethality of the three-round burst. Even after he’d more than qualified for the M392 Designated Marksman Rifle, he still favored his good old battle rifle for any work that had him in motion. 

Here was hoping he wouldn’t need it, though. 

David put a pair of grenades carefully into his pockets before rolling his shoulders, checked the ammo on his battle rifle out of habit, and then he was in motion. Body crouched low, movement proceeding from cover to cover. At last he came in sight of the building and paused behind the corner of a building, ready to look, to search, to see. What he found was a pair of cameras on the opposite ends of the building, but no guards to speak of. How was it that a building that had just been broken into that night hadn’t managed to up their security tonight? Why was there no police presence? Was it all just a trap, set up by the people who had gone after Karim, to catch him in the act? Had Karim never gotten close enough to really start fucking with things? Hadn’t he said something about security guards? 

Something about this didn’t smell right, but David could practically feel the datadrive the old man had given Karim burning in his pocket. That had been the only other thing he had taken from Karim’s body, the item the employer had explained would, once plugged into a computer in the records room, acquire the information he was interested in. All he had to do, then, was get inside, plug it into the correct computer, and wait. 

Deep breath. Caution is the better part of valor.

Sometimes caution doesn’t get you moving, though. 

That in mind David took another breath to calm himself, raised his rifle, and peeked around the corner. Two shots rang out into the quiet night, each one resulting in angry sparks springing from ruined cameras. Bingo. Another moment David waited, crouching lower at his corner, waiting for motion. Still nothing. 

Trap it was then. And the first step to avoiding a trap was to know it was there. The second step typically involved not walking right into the middle of it. But really, how was he going to get anything done if he lived by that rule? So, knowing it was a trap, David ran forward, right into its gaping jaws. 

Covering the distance between his cover and the door was simple, actually a bit beyond that. Still no motion, not around him, and definitely not on the massively simplified trackers on his helmet’s display. No dots of any color, no news, no warning of opposing forces from the moment he broke cover right up to the door. Still nothing when he got there. Again David’s thoughts went to what could go wrong in an airlock as he dredged up the memory of Karim’s briefing. He remembered the employer presented Karim with an access code to the building’s airlock, and if he could just remember the… 

There it was. David glanced around carefully and punched the code into the pad, glad for the gloves that had been pressed into his hands before he’d left with his weapons. That woman was kind and considerate if she was nothing else. Still, this was the part that would leave him the most vulnerable. David shifted his grip on the rifle, checking his sides and rear as he waited for the door to chirp its unlock to him. Then he was through in an instant, closing and locking the thing behind him for the filtration process. There was always a chance that the attack would come after this, so David lowered his rifle and pulled a grenade, looping a finger in the pin just in case. That done he ducked into the only cover he could remotely have, which meat standing against the side of the airlock’s inner door frame. 

Please, he prayed, to no deity in particular. Let me get through this. 

With a hiss of air the inner door’s seal broke and David slowly pushed it open with the grenade holding hand. Better to let people know what they were dealing with earlier rather than later. Still nothing. For a while David stared at the cracked door before tucking the grenade away. Then he moved closer to the door, nosing the muzzle of his rifle beyond the door. The feed from it’s targeting scope, a ‘bonus’ from the woman in green, registered no signs of people, but these things weren’t too hard to fool if you were really trying. Tech wasn’t always better than the human senses. Sometimes, yes, but this time… the only way to be certain was to move himself. 

Slowly David moved his head into the gap. Nothing. Slowly he moved through the door to consider the area around him. Nothing. Finally he moved far enough that he wasn’t protected by the door at all. Still nothing. 

Well, that meant the trap would spring later. That was something he could live with. Better to have someone jump you when you were heading for extraction because then there was just one thing to focus on: getting out alive. If there was nothing between him and the first mission objective, well, he’d be able to relax just for a minute. Not that, of course, David was going to relax at all. He considered the room he was in, found the cameras that had seen his little show of caution, and shot those out too. Better he leave as little of himself as possible. Cameras and the chance for ambush in mind, David advanced past the reception desk and down a hall that he hoped would lead to his target. 

It actually took him a few minutes of exploration, and camera destruction, for him to find a room filled with desks and computers. This, then, was probably where he was supposed to be. Or at least, he hoped it was. Because the tension of waiting for the trap to spring was driving him crazy. There was no doubt in his head that something was going to happen, and the question was just what it was going to be. Whoever had killed Karim wanted what was going to be on his data drive very soon. 

David moved quietly over to a desk and hit the button to turn on the computer and it’s screen. Then, just to be cautious, he ducked under the desk. Better to stay hidden as much as he could when he was getting everything set up. Just in case. Always just in case. Silently he sat there, waiting for the change in noises that meant the machine had warmed up. Meanwhile he checked the time on his helmet. Three hours. Was it really possible that the whole of his world had been flipped upside-down in so little time? 

When the startup clicks and hums of the machine died down, David popped his head up just enough to look at the monitor. Ready to go. David popped the drive into the port it was shaped for and quickly searched the room. Still no one around him. Silence and peace. In a way the place seemed almost… serene. What a lie. Certain that he was good for now, David tucked himself back down under the desk and waited for the drive to announce this phase of the job completed. Soon enough things were going to get complicated. 

Just for good measure, David checked his battle rifle again. Every instinct he had screamed that things were about to get bad.


	7. Chapter 7

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long David spent under the desk, looking out every now and then to check the progress bar on the screen and check for potential hazards. But nothing. The tension slowly ate away at the thin veneer of his patience, and David was certain he checked his load-out of weapons about ten times before the datadrive chimed it’s completion. Only then was David safe enough to pull the thing free, turn off the set-up, and move to the exit. 

Even made it all the way to and through the airlock before all hell broke loose. 

The night, he found, was the same sort of dark it had been when he’d entered. The same dark there had been when he’d run out into the night to try and help Karim. The last dark night his ex-boyfriend ever saw. What he also found, though, was that the streetlights near the building had been shot out. Wonderful. Even as David peeked out through the barely opened door of the airlock, he knew how this had to play out. They were waiting for him, waiting for whatever was on the datadrive. Apparently this time the mercenaries or whoever they were that had gone after Karim had decided to make sure the data was in hand before they brought down their prey. 

Too bad for them this target had teeth all his own, ready to bite them for the arrogance to think that he didn’t see this coming. Karim sure hadn’t, only armed as he had been with a poor quality battle rifle and no backup weapon. Granted, Karim had seemed certain during his conversation with his employer that this was going to be an easily done job. The only reason David was going in the wiser was because this wasn’t his job, and he got to see the after effects of being prepared. Then again military life reminded you that even when things were good, things that could go wrong would go wrong. 

As his instructors at bootcamp had told them, no plan, no matter how well devised, survived the first encounter with the enemy. Why, for the love of all that was holy, couldn’t people just behave in predictable fashions? 

David slowly eased the airlock door back closed, just a hair, to give himself better cover, and then closed his eyes. Tried to think about the layout of the street he’d noticed before coming in. Where were the places with the best cover? Where would he strike from if he was the attacking force? In their place he knew he’d wait until the target was far enough from the airlock that they couldn’t dive back in for cover. He could use that and the heavy steel door to his advantage. It could easily give him cover from a whole arc of potential attack vectors, and he was pretty certain they wouldn’t come from behind him. In fact, they couldn’t with the outer door open unless someone initiated fire emergency protocols, which would warn him before the inner door opened. So his back was covered, and he could cover a decent range with the door only partially opened. 

One last time David checked the magazine of his battle rifle, an old stress reaction that apparently all his time out of the army hasn’t freed him from. 

“Time to move, David,” he reminds himself. 

Within a moment David was stretched out in the airlock on his belly, sticking the muzzle of his battle rifle through the gap. If memory served there should be a bench just over… There, he got sight of the faint shape of the shuttle stop bench through his gap in the door. There were definitely too many supports under it, but he didn’t have a good angle like this. With a sigh he leaned forward just enough to push the heavy metal door open a little bit more. Much better like that. Smirking in his helmet David lined up a shot. Time to play with his new toy. 

Safety off and rifle switched into burst-fire, David squeezed off a quick shot just short of the bench. A warning to whoever thought they were going to attack him. Almost immediately he could see feet jumping backwards a few steps. Good he had their attention. Still, they had moved enough that he had to adjust his aim up. Instead of aiming for their legs, he had an angle instead on their now visible torsos. Idiots. Such a clear, clean target, and they were cursing loud enough to confirm their presence even if he hadn’t been sure before. 

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” David called out, turning up the speakers on his helmet to make sure he would be heard. “Bad news is that was a warning shot, not a miss. Whether you’ll believe it or not, I’m an expert marksman, so you don’t want to be on my badside. Good news, I’ll let you all walk away with all your blood and no extra special dose of lead supplements if you let me go unharmed.”

A voice scoffed right back at him, a male one that had an accent David could place as from a small colony world called Genos which was known for being one of the least pleasant places to live in human colonized space. Granted, it was better than Adaptive, but that David was pretty sure was by dint of them not having toxic storms. He’d known someone from Genos in the service, a good man trying to get ahead of what his life had dealt him. If only this one had made as similar choice. And too bad for him he happened to be one of the two bodies just behind the bench. 

“Like hell we’re letting you…”

The man didn’t get to finish whatever he was going to say as David lined up another shot and squeezed off another three-round burst. In the silence that came after the crack of the shots the sound of the body hitting the ground was far beyond eerie. And god help him, David’s hand almost started to shake. First confirmed kill since leaving the service. And from the way the other person behind the bench was ducking down and raising their gun over the bench itself, it wasn’t going to be be the last. 

“I gave you an out,” he announced into the silence. “I’m sorry you didn’t take it, but you’re between me and my job.”

“Same here buddy,” another voice shouted in response, somewhere off to his right, the door between himself and the origin. Well, at least that confirmed the location of another target. And now, he decided, was time to move. 

The first step of which was pulling one of the grenades back out. It took nothing at all to prime the thing, a careful count to get ready, and a quick roll through the door to create the perfect distraction. All eyes would be on the explosion, he knew how people tended to work, and these ones probably weren’t smart enough to watch for movement with the blast. So the second it went off David was scrambling to his feet and through the door. Still in motion he shot down the other person behind the bench he had been able to see, and threw himself over the railing of the stairs to the left. That would give him cover from the right. There was shouting, people calling for attention, guns going off too late behind him as David turned his attention to the new area unveiled to him. Seemed like they weren’t smart enough to position someone over here. Even as his attention went up he didn’t find someone stationed on top of a building either. Was it really that simple? Just a few people on either side of the door? 

Well, now that he thought about it, he had already taken out three people. The one he had shot at back in Karim’s alley most definitely wasn’t going to be battle ready any time soon. In fact, the other one had probably been taken to the hospital with them after David had called an ambulance for them, so that was two people on a team of however many already taken out. Then there were the two behind the bench he had shot, and he knew it was two, because he could hear the groaning from behind the bench. Hell, he hadn’t even been shot at yet. Given the other two voices…

Six people. Was it really possible that whoever else was after this data or the person that had hired Karim had only sent six men to ensure the job as done? Actually, when he thought about it six people might be a little overkill. This could easily be another set of people called in after the one he had knocked out called back to his employer. How important was this information? 

For a moment David patted the datadrive in his pocket, wondering just what Karim had gotten himself into. And then the gunfire behind him, beyond the stairs, reminded him that the concern really wasn’t as important at this moment as survival was. And god help him if there were more than two more people here and they’d disabled his vehicle. Well, no use borrowing trouble. David briefly cast his attention toward the side street he had his vehicle stowed on, and when he saw no one approaching from that direction he returned his attention to the problem on the other side of the stairs, which had decided to go and complicate itself further. 

While not a universal rule, David had found that there were more than a few airlocks in the city that had interior sensors to tell them if they were occupied. If no one was in them and there was nothing blocking the door from closing, an automated system kicked in that slowly swung the thing back shut. Which meant the additional cover David had intended to work with had closed while he was scoping for more targets behind him. Upside, it left him with a relatively clear line of sight on a remembered parked van further up the street. No doubt where these people had been hiding. Stupid him for not clearing it while he was inbound. But mistakes were made and you either died or you made it out and learned from them. David intended to be part of the latter category. 

Another grenade came out and David popped his head up just long enough to try and get range on the van. Good thing it was a brief check too, because almost immediately there were gunshots, some pinging off of the stairs behind him. Damn, they were quick shots. He had thought with his dark helmet and the darkness here there wouldn’t be too much of a problem staying hidden. But, now that he thought about it, there was the yellow stripe on his helmet and… 

Right. The lights were shot out. David cursed himself as he realized it. He’d heard of illegal street mods that mercenaries used, had a few of them himself when he was in the army. After all, night-vision put into a helmet was actually more efficient than into the scope on a gun or even with goggles. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? 

Probably because he wasn’t thinking about these people in the fairest way. Shouldn’t what he saw at the gun dealer’s place have taught him better? Whatever had led to this mercenary culture on Adaptive, they’d definitely lived up to the planet’s name. Which meant he had to be even more careful with all of this. Fuck, why couldn’t they just be incompetent assholes rather than competent ones? 

Still, the plan was sound. He thought. So far as he knew there weren’t many people who could shoot a grenade out of the air. In fact he’d only ever heard of that happening once, and since the person claiming it had been at a military bar at the time bragging and deep in his cups, David wasn’t quite sure how believable the story was. 

Deep breaths. Caution is the better part of…

Head up, arm going as he threw, and then back down into cover as he listened to people shout and run. Scrabble away as he counted down in his head. Two… one… 

The explosion was loud, far louder than it should have been, which meant David had hit his target. With that in mind he popped up out of cover and started shooting on full auto, trying to figure out where the people had gone. Sure enough the place where the van had once stood unharmed there was now the burning remains of the vehicle. Damn, he must have gotten the grenade close to the tank to get that sort of quick reaction. Perfect. He could see one body on the ground near the van, someone apparently hadn’t moved fast enough. The other person he found only because of the gunshots they let loose as David was sinking back down into cover. 

Of course he didn’t get down soon enough. There was a sharp pain in his shoulder, and when he turned his back against the stairs while he traded out his magazine for a fresh one, he had to look. David let himself have a sigh of relief as he found it was only a graze across his bicep, but there was a bit of blood, so he lowered the gun long enough to reach into the ammo pouch to bring out one of the self-stick bandages he’d taken from the arms dealer. It took nothing at all to slap that in place. Sure, it wouldn’t do too much to help, but it would keep him from leaving blood behind. The last thing he wanted was to get out of here and have the cops after him. 

Deep breath. Caution… fuck it. 

David rolled out of cover to the side, bringing his weapon up toward where he’d been shot from. Sure enough the shooter popped up to take a shot at him. They were fast to get up to line the shot up. David was faster. A three burst shot and silence dominated the area, save for the sound of the flames and the moans of pain. Done. Victory secured. 

No time to waste gloating, especially if one of them could get up at any moment. David trusted his safety his vest and just ran. If he could get to his truck, well, it would all be over. Just like that, everything over. Or it would be, once he got back to Errera.


	8. Chapter 8

The pulse of Gulch, perhaps of Adaptive itself, was a deep, throbbing, sometimes surging baseline of Errera. Everyone seemed to move with the sound of it in their very footsteps, striding along to a beat that was part of their very bones. Their breath rose and fell like the cadence of music that danced in the air. People flowed from one motion to another like the colored lights that lined everything and slid through the plas-glass walls and floors, one color melting into the next into the next into the next in a hypnotizing cycle that lured one into a sense of calm that called to a person, held them up and made them feel weightless. Errera was the pulse of Adaptive, of Gulch, and once, of David Butler. 

Now he footsteps were the sharp retort of a fired gun. The breath that he took was the inhale, hold, release of a marksman trying to steady a barrel. When he moved it was with the crisp, efficient steps of a soldier, crowds parting for him as he strode forward, no one wanting to be in his way. The light that guided him wasn’t under the floor or above his head, but the blindingly brilliant and short lived flash of the muzzle followed by the crimson and yellow spread of an explosion. And no longer was David weightless. A familiar and terrible weight had settled on his shoulders the second he had pulled that pistol from his glove compartment hours before. Had wrapped him up in duty and consequence when he had put on the vest. Had dragged him back down to the wariness he had thought to abandon when he carried the injured form of a former lover to his truck. Finally it had settled like a lead into his boots, keeping himself grounded in a needless death. So many needless deaths. 

David was barely halfway across the main expanse of Errera, moving for the employee area when one of the black and glowing red forms of a security staffer intercepted him. The build of him told David it was Keith, a man he had always liked. They went drinking at the Eagle and Asp some nights, and David had always found the man quick with a joke. Of course with him still wearing his helmet and with a clear wound on his arm, he wasn’t certain Keith recognized him, and his non-nonsense way of moving didn’t really speak to the normal club goer. David wondered, for a brief moment, if all mercenaries got this treatment when they came through the club on business. 

“Hold up there,” Keith started to say. “So you know, we got…”

“You eyes on me,” David finished for him, already knowing where his friend was going with it. “I know, Keith. Can you call up to the boss and tell her I’ll be up to see her soon?”

Maybe there was something in his tone, or in his posture, or just something that only security guys knew how to pick up on. Because suddenly there was a settling of Keith’s posture, almost like a soldier disarming. For a moment David had to wonder what would happen if he went toe to toe with Keith. Maybe… maybe he’d ask the big man to train with him sometime. Figured most of the security guys put in gym time. David needed to get back into that. Be ready for anything. 

“I was hoping you’d be one of the ones that stuck around for a long time,” Keith said, his voice a bit sad. “Not just because I had a bet on it.”

That, at least, made David chuckle. “How much and how long?”

“Hundred creds that you made it past another six months.”

“Security guys always bet on employee turnover?” David asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He felt momentarily vulnerable knowing he had no weapons on him, a strange concept considering how easily he’d lived his life without them since going civilian. But there was no need here, and he had to be comfortable with that.

“Only ‘tenders. We’ve got shit luck,” Keith chuckled. “But you can always come back.”

“I know,” David agreed. “I’ll call you in the morning to talk. Got some ideas. And I think I’ll owe you that money you’re out.”

Keith just nodded in response before turning and moving away. David smiled, shaking his head, before continuing his beeline for the employee access that would get him up to Room Five the more efficient way. No need to impress employees with sweeping staircases or lavish lifts. Once David was at the nearest employee door he pulled out his ID and with it in hand headed into the back. 

The halls were quiet now, quieter than David had really noticed before. The walls, it seemed, blocked out the noise of the club better than he’d ever known. Maybe he’d been so used to Errera, or maybe because of his helmet being tuned to one of the DJs, he had assumed you could hear it all back here. But no, there was a peace in these halls that he could almost respect. A moment of strength and stability against the chaos of the outside world. David let himself focus on that rather than the anger bubbling up in his gut as he found the first set of stairs to the upper levels and quickly scaled them. Soon, far too soon, he stood outside of Room Five. 

Deep breath. Fuck caution with a rusty spoon. 

David pushed the call button on the door and after a second it slid open, welcoming him into the lavish room that he had been proud to be asked up to hours before. Now the wasted display of wealth almost sickened him. Why here? Why now? Why did this man need medical records? Why did it all happen and why did it matter. 

The man sat with his back to the door, toward the window that looked out over his club. David could hear the glass in his hand ring with the sound of ice cubes, and he rolled his eyes at that. Apparently the man had opted toward ice for his later drinks. Whatever. It didn’t bother David at all. 

“You’re late,” the man announced and again David rolled his eyes. If he did it any more he might get dizzy. 

“And you’re in a position where, if I’d managed to bring a weapon in, you’d be dead by now.”

The man flinched and it took all the self control David had to not laugh as the man jumped to his feet, whirling to look at David. Wow, he made himself an even bigger target like that. Just how dumb was this asshole? 

“You aren’t my mercenary,” the man snapped as he looked David up and down. “Get out.”

“I’m not,” David agreed, reaching up to remove his helmet. It was actually fun to watch the man’s expression morph from outrage to confusion, to flat out bafflement as David rested his helmet against his hip and smirked. “In fact, I’m your bartender.”

“What… what are you doing here?” the man demanded, blustering right back up to outrage. 

With that David pulled the datadrive from his pocket and threw it at the man. He actually let himself chuckle as the man dropped his glass and fumbled to catch the thing when it hit his chest. But the man managed it, cradling the item in his hands like it was precious and fragile. Maybe it was. David neither knew nor cared. 

“The man you sent out there, unprepared for the people who would foil your plans? He’s dead. He was my friend, you stupid piece of shit. Called me for help, and insisted that I finish your job tonight. It got him killed,” David snarled, moving forward. It was more than merely satisfying to see the larger man back up slowly, clearly uncomfortable, perhaps a touch afraid. 

“If he’s dead, then I don’t…”

“Don’t talk,” David snapped, putting that edge of command into his voice that he’d learned from his CO. It seemed to work too, the man going rigid, his eyes a little wide behind his glasses. “I don’t want to hear another word from you. In fact, I never want to see you again. If I find you here, in my club, I’ll follow you out and throttle the life out of you. In fact, I’d love to do that right now, but there is a matter of payment, and Karim was pretty insistent on that part.”

“I don’t owe you…” the man started to say, and David just cut him off again. 

“Or I can throttle you now and take the credstick from your body,” David offered. “I don’t doubt you have it on you, and Errera covers things like this up all the time. It would be bad for the reputation if anyone found out. I don’t even have to cover my own tracks.”

That seemed to put the fear of god, or at least David, into the man, as he reached quickly into the pocket of his expensive suit and drew out a credstick. He tossed it to David, and David just popped it into the port on his helmet, lifting the thing just enough that he could look at the screen inside and confirm the surprisingly substantial paycheck. Combined with what Karim had left on the other one this was an almost twenty grand payout. For medical records. What was going on here? 

No. 

He didn’t want to know. 

“Get out,” he ordered, already moving away from the man and toward the bar. “Leave your keycard. Errera will appreciate you renting the room for the full night.”

The man didn’t question, and David didn’t respond as he heard a plastic card fall to a table, and the door to the room slide open and closed. He just moved to the window that overlooked the club and watched. Down there people didn’t know what was happening up here. They had no clue the sort of battle that had gone on. Couldn’t know what David had lost. And why should they? With a sigh David turned to the table by the chair the man had been in. He considered the fallen glass of alcohol, for a moment he almost cleaned it up. But no, he wasn’t going to do that. Instead he leaned down to scoop up the card and crossed to the bar. His helmet was left on the counter as he used the thing to reopen the alcohol display. For a while David considered the options in front of him. There was so much here that he’d never touched, never thought to see. He could make any drink, every last one to the highest quality. 

In the end he selected the apple brandy and crouched behind the bar to gather up the things he had pulled out for Karim. More than anything he needed a drink. Slowly David went through the steps of mixing up the full potency of the recovery in all it’s glory. It was as good as anything to send Karim off with. Maybe better. After this he’d have to go to the doctors again to see to Karim, to pay them, to get his things. And then to Karim’s family, make sure they had what they needed, see that they got the news. But first… 

David lifted the glass in a toast to the room, sipping slowly at the drink. ith each taste came a memory. Days spent with Karim. Dinners they had shared. How he had found the man in the alley. The plea to finish the job. A single pained utterance of help. Before he knew it the glass was all but drained, a single splash of liquid left. Sighing he set it aside and lifted his helmet. Better to get some things done now. 

_Bones,_ he sent to the frequency he fished out of his pocket, _job is done. I’ll be back soon to see to Karim and your payment._

Almost immediately his comm pinged back with a call request. David sighed but confirmed the connection, and was granted a glimpse of the woman in the kitchen he remembered. She probably had a datapad on her if she was doing a video call, whereas his returned video would no doubt just be an audio bar, spiking and falling in the dance of his voice. 

“Thought I told you that I’m not charging you for failing to save your friend. You okay, kid?”

There was concern on her face, and David didn’t care for it at all. He kept that to himself, though, let it come out in a grimace she couldn’t see. “I’m fine. Finished the job. I’ll be along soon to deal with Karim, like I said.”

“Whatever. Do what you want,” she answered, her lips pursed in a way that bespoke her displeasure. “Seriously, though, if you don’t want me to call you kid, I need a name to call you by.”

David chuckled a bit at that. Like he wanted to give one to a person he wouldn’t see after this. 

“Are you okay?”

The question again. David shook his head, he wasn’t okay. Not in the slightest. But there was no way she was going to be able to see that, so he had to vocalize, didn’t he? 

“I guess time will tell.”

“It always does, kid.”

David sighed, holding the glass with the remains of his drink between his fingers. Slowly he swirled the last of the liquid around and around, watching the alcohol flow. Karim had loved this drink. David used to tease it was Karim’s beard for the clubs and bars. His way at pretending that he was part of the rest of the crowd. Karim just used to smile knowingly. 

“Recovery,” David said as he watched the drink. “You can call me Recovery.”

His gaze returned to the display of her face and watched as a knowing resignation settled on her face. Well, seemed she understood the significance of that answer. Perhaps even feared he’d give something along those lines. He had to wonder how a street doctor that specialized in mercenaries could ever feel bad about the potential for new customers. But, in the end, she was still a doctor, right? Seeing people hurt probably didn’t make her happy. Still, she nodded at last. 

“Well, in that case, I think I have a way you can pay me back, if you’re up to it. See, I’ve got this friend in a spot of trouble, and I think he could use just a little bit of saving. Think you can go again tonight?”

Again David looked at the drink, silent for a long moment. Then, with a small smirk, he nodded to himself. 

“I think I can handle one more go. You sure Karim can wait?”

“I’m sure,” she agreed. 

“Well then…” 

David took off his helmet just long enough to take the last swig of the drink, closed his eyes and let it burn on the way down before he settled the helmet back in place. He’d have to go see the boss quickly, but maybe that could wait until morning. 

Yeah. Morning. A long way away. Maybe not long enough. 

He looked at Bone’s face one last time before he took a deep breath. Caution, he reminded himself, was the better part of valor. 

“Recovery inbound.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, as with chapter two, includes the presence of a mixed drink. This is based on the tumblr user benevolentbartender's Guns For Hire cocktail creation made especially for Washington based on Synne's design. The cocktail is called [Recovery One](http://benevolentbartender.tumblr.com/post/129233149897/eighth-gfh-cocktail-recovery-one). It serves not only as a nod to her nod at this point, but here it acts as a naming point for Washington. I hope everyone enjoyed the story. 
> 
> Join me next week where we'll be posting all of York's story, one chapter a day, until it's done.


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